


Where Better to Find a Muse Than a Museum?

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Miserable Les (Musical)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Museums, enjoltaire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 17:58:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12041196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: Grantaire is in need of inspiration and Enjolras needs space to think. Yet they both end up in the same place.





	Where Better to Find a Muse Than a Museum?

**Author's Note:**

> The museum mentioned is loosely based on the Petit Palais (in Paris), but I’ve never actually been, so I apologise for any inaccuracies. I'm not too sure about this... it feels a bit ooc at some points, so I'll probably update it when I've had a chance to fine-tune it.
> 
> If you enjoy this, you can find me on Tumblr: lady-needless-litany

It was a Thursday afternoon, nearing six in the evening. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see the threateningly overcast sky and briefly lamented his lack of coat or umbrella. Generally, though, the artefacts around him occupied his focus. The limp pamphlet in his hands informed him that he was in the ‘Classical World’ collection— not his speciality, or even an area of particular interest, but there was something awe-inspiring about it. Grecian vases and Roman sculptures were not his usual muses, but maybe he could work with it...

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire turned on his heel, eyes automatically darting to the source of the question.

“Enjolras!”

He received several glares from other patrons, winced, and dropped his tone.

“What are you doing here?” he asked of the blond, trying not to sound accusatory.

Enjolras moved towards him in quick strides.

“I find that museums help me think, and I think that this has to be one of my favourites.” He paused, regarding Grantaire in a way that the other man couldn’t quite interpret. “What about you?”

“Oh– well, this is my first trip. I’m in need of some inspiration.”

There was a second of laden silence before a calm, modulated voice interrupts their discussion. “Museum closing in ten minutes.” The announcer repeats this in several languages, each statement more insistent than the last.

“I suppose we’d better get going. Before they forcibly remove us.”

Grantaire sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

It took a few minutes to work their way back to the entrance, where they halted, much to the consternation of the flow of exiting patrons.

“It’s going to rain,” Enjolras observed. Grantaire didn’t respond. He added hesitantly, “Do you want to...grab a drink on the way home? There’s a café just across the street.”

“Sure.”

The café was small, cozy, and permeated by a gentle murmur of conversation. They took a table inside and ordered two glasses of wine.

“So, why are you looking for inspiration?”

Grantaire took a lengthy sip of wine before replying. “I’m an art student, but I haven’t done anything in weeks— not a single painting, drawing, sculpture...maybe an occasional doodle, but that’s it.”

Enjolras nodded in understanding and let Grantaire change the subject.

“So, museums?” he cocked his head. “Is that a thing for you?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Whenever I’ve got the time.”

“Which ones?”

Enjolras launched into a list, an explanation of the ones he’s visited, whether or not they were worth the time and money. He talked for several minutes, more enthusiastic with each sentence. When his narrative dwindled to a close, Grantaire asks: “So have you been to the Palais de Tokyo?”

“No, I don’t think so. Isn’t it really touristy?”

“Sometimes, yes,” he admits. “But it’s amazing. I swear, it’s the best museum in Paris.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a claim.”

“Yes, but it’s true. Trust me.” His eyes were somehow imploring.

“I’ll put it on the list.”

“No, no, no. You _have_ to go. I’m going to take you.”

They chatted awhile until Enjolras noticed the time— the evening had already progressed significantly, and they both had classes the next morning. So with hurried goodbyes, they parted ways once more, braving a miserable, drizzling night. As he walked away, Grantaire realised that he was smiling, that there was an undeniable glow warming his heart.

 

⁂

The professor, a dreary, prematurely-aged thirty-something, was droning at the front. Grantaire sat as far away from him as humanly possible and was of the opinion that it was a miracle anyone turned up to class.

In an attempt to alleviate the drowsiness that came with the early time and his teacher’s monotonous lecturing, he sketched to pass the time. First a pair of eyes, then a nose, a pair of lips. It began to look dangerously familiar. He erased it before it could manifest into Enjolras’ features, because he didn’t know what he’d do if they did.

 

⁂

**Grantaire** enj, you free this weekend?

****Enjolras:**** Yes, I think so. Why?

Enjolras, Grantaire had learnt, was one of those annoying people that always used full sentences and proper grammar, even in texts.

**Grantaire:** we could go to palais de tokyo?

It took Enjolras almost half an hour to reply, during which Grantaire compulsively checked his phone. _Does it sound weird? Maybe he didn’t think I was serious. No, he’s probably working. And you’re an adult, stop freaking out._ Then, out of the blue: _Oh my god, what if he thinks I’m asking him out on a date?_

His phone buzzed, breaking his nervous fidgeting.

**Enjolras:** OK...Saturday morning?

Well, Grantaire would’ve gone afternoon (the thought of being awake before ten o’clock on a Saturday morning pained him), but he wasn’t about to quibble.

**Grantaire:** sure  
**Grantaire:** should we meet there, or should i pick you up on the way  
**Grantaire:** i dont mind which

He could practically feel Enjolras rolling his eyes at the number of errors in his messages.

******__**********Enjolras:**********__****** You could come to my place first? Since mine is close to the metro station? ** ** ** _ _ ** ** ** ** **  
**Grantaire:************__****** ok

 

⁂ 

When Saturday came, Grantaire dragged himself out of bed with a groan. He’d stayed awake later than planned because he’d finally— finally!— had an idea and started painting. With bleary eyes and a strong cup of coffee, he made it to Enjolras’ building. It took longer than it should have, considering that he’d been there before, to locate the right apartment and press the doorbell.

The door was answered almost immediately, the man standing behind it obnoxiously awake. Enjolras stood aside to let him pass. “Well, aren’t you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?”

As Enjolras disappeared into the kitchen. Grantaire mumbled something unintelligible, even to himself, in response. He near-collapsed onto the sofa, and a steaming mug of coffee is set gently on the table in front of him.

Enjolras perches on an armchair perpendicular to him, a prim contrast to Grantaire’s slouched figure, hands clasping his own drink. The golden light filtered through his hair, making it look like he has a halo. Grantaire can’t help thinking that it’s very fitting.

It takes a while for Enjolras to coax Grantaire off the sofa— ironic, seeing as the whole outing has been his idea. Eventually, though, they do leave.

A trip on the Métro (not a favourite of either of them, but a necessary evil), a short walk, a queue; all passed with inane yet amicable chatter. Then they got inside the museum and Grantaire became animated, pulling Enjolras from exhibition to exhibition enthusiastically and talking all the while. It surprised Enjolras, who had never since Grantaire so vivacious.

“You’re clearly in your element here.” he remarked at one point. The other man chose to ignore the statement, but Enjolras thought he might have glimpsed a hint of a blush.

They stopped at one point, on a bench in one the foyer. Grantaire had temporarily stemmed the torrent of anecdotes and analyses, choosing instead to engross himself in his phone while Enjolras examined the map he’d been handed upon arrival.

“I think,” Enjolras said slowly. “That we’ve been everywhere.”

“Have we?”

“I think so. I mean, it’s already…” he checked his watch for the first time in hours. “Three o’clock?”

“Three o’clock?” Grantaire exclaimed. “But...how?”

Enjolras shrugged good-naturedly. “Who knows?”

They’d missed lunch, that much was clear, so decided on a snack from one of the cafes surrounding the museum (“Overpriced.” Grantaire grumbled). Their table was outside, on the pavement, and Enjolras looked into the passing streams of traffic and pedestrians as he chewed his way through his sandwich.

“So what did you think?”

“Of the museum? It was brilliant. Thanks for bringing me.” he replied.

“But is it the best museum in Paris?” Grantaire challenged lightly.

“That remains to be seen...I think you need to go to the Musée Carnavalet. Then you can start making judgements on Paris’ best museum.”

Grantaire just tilted his head to one side,

“Seriously, I’ll take you. You’ll like it.”

 

_Maybe next time_ , Enjolras thought, _I might actually be brave enough to ask him on a proper date._

 

Almost simultaneously, Grantaire mused: _this is starting to sound an awful lot like he’s asking me out. He’s not, obviously, but I could be forgiven for hoping..._


End file.
